


Immolatio

by kirby77DP77



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Bilbo, Bilbo Is Awesome, Cryptic Latin title, M/M, Mother hen Bilbo, Protective Bilbo, Protective Thorin, Secretive Hobbits, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stoic Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirby77DP77/pseuds/kirby77DP77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbits are peaceful creatures. They grow gardens and have fauntlings and enjoy their peace, but Yavanna instilled a power in her hobbits as she was frightened for her gentle creatures. After all, every creature has a way of protecting its loved ones. This is the secret of the hobbits, but not just because of their quiet nature and taciturn lives. For every protection there is a price, a price that Bilbo Baggins may not be able to endure, especially while taking down a dragon.</p>
<p>These dwarrow don't know what they are getting into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_Every time you get angry,_

_You poison your own system._

  -Alfred A. Montapert

****

There are no good, bad, or evil people, because all from the simple, bloodlusting orc to the mightiest of the dwarrow are creatures with different paths they take for their lives. There are ones that are better with words, better with kindness, and better using their ferocity during life than others… but whom they truly are is a matter of perspective. For there are no heroes in this sad little world of ours, for each person can be evil and each person can be angelic. But is anyone truly evil?

Some see power as evil, but is the power of protection evil? Is it evil to harness that power to keep loved ones safe while poisoning your own self in the process? Power can reside in all from the humble hobbit to the greatest warrior, and even that hobbit can hold hidden power to protect those he loves.

And who are you to peg them as evil when you, yourself have the capacity to be just as bad? Because humanity (for everyone is human, no matter what their species) is truly a blessing, curse, and honor. Life can be unfair and the people in this world will exploit that, never being truly evil and never being completely good. But life… Life can be beautiful, fun, and exciting.

But that doesn’t mean it is, especially not for one Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, for he was a hobbit and hobbits hardly venture from their smials. However, sometimes all it takes to get the snake out of its home is to play it a sombre tune to bring the poison to the surface.

 

****

“Curse my softened heart!” The hobbit grumbled in his bed as the deep, mournful song ended with a sigh. The speak of misty, rocky mountains he did not understand, nor the desolation of dragon fire, but he understood the love of a home; his father built this very smial for his dear mother, Belladonna Took! He understood the need for a home as well. After all, the young dwarrow that barely were into adulthood needed permanency. To roam the countryside without a warm hearth or comfortable bed, especially as a child… with nowhere to call your own...Bilbo felt a twinge of guilt as he looked around his cozy room and with a sigh he got to his feet, grabbing the stack of blankets as he shuffled through the door and down the hall to the hearth full of now solemn dwarrow. Dwarrow that were... camping? In his… living room?

Oh my.

“Excuse me!” Bilbo squeaked, and instantly he had eleven pairs of eyes staring at him. Now feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, he stammered, “I-I have some spare rooms down the other hall if anyone is interested. They need blankets and I may not have enough for everyone, but-”

The hobbit had never seen a room cleared quite so quickly. All of the blankets, save three, were robbed from his grip as the the lively bunch shot past him to the comfy beds, one large ginger dwarf even knocked poor Bilbo on his backside in his haste. When the flustered hobbit returned to his feet, he saw Thorin Oakenshield’s unimpressed blue eyes coupled with a single raised eyebrow fixed on him. Bilbo turned red for but a moment before cooly shrugging away his embarrassment and handed a thick quilt to the stoic figure, who gave him a small nod.

Bilbo turned from Thorin, only to be met with the two younger dwarrow asleep on the couch. A small smile softened Bilbo’s face and a flood of compassion enveloped him as he draped the warmest blankets he owned over the two youths, humming quietly as he remembered his mother did. Sympathy for the boys swarmed his conscience. They needed a home and his little smial and crowded inns would not cut it. They needed somewhere where lush gardens grow and fauntlings can grow all the more, where they could discover themselves and others, and where they could do strange dwarf things like pillage the pantry and destroy the plumbing. And they needed a hobbit’s help.

_Well damn,_ A sigh shook Bilbo and after running his hand through his golden locks, _I guess I’m going on an adventure._

Every fiber of Bilbo’s being told him this was the correct path, but it did not stop the unease. It would be dangerous out of the Shire and ever since Fell Winter, since his mother’s tragic death, he had felt paranoid. After seeing how she died… He could feel the very swirling hatred and fury in his gut that had fueled her very demise. The wolf had no chance, but neither did she… not against the power the hobbits conceal so carefully within.

But he would simply not let it rule him. Such power could not turn Bilbo Baggins’s head so easily!

He walked silently to the forgotten contract on the table and signed it with a flourish. No sooner had he seen his own thin signature had the hobbit murmured frantically, “I’ve got to pack,” before flitting off to pack away his travel bag, grumbling to himself.

Perhaps if he or anyone else had noticed the twitch of a barely there smile that had adorned the King Under the Mountain’s visage, then the events that were to follow would have been different. Perhaps if Bilbo had seen how Thorin watched him with a smile as Bibo tucked in the king’s precious nephews, then the journey could have started with a warm conversation and ended with one.

Unfortunately it was not that simple.

 

****

It took the groggy hobbit much longer than it should have to pack, however, marrying “light packing” and “preparing for the worst” is a much more difficult task than it appeared. Between packing and getting his affairs in the Shire handled, Bilbo was up half night writing letters and stuffing his pack with the essentials and his father’s large hunting knife along with its sheath, just in case. After all, he was going to fight a dragon. But Yavanna forbid had he left the packing for tomorrow! He could not imagine how much of a mess his possessions would be in at that rate of rushing.

By the time the dwarrow were rising from their deep slumber, Bilbo had gotten two hours of sleep and cooked a breakfast that could rival a Sackville-Baggins’ feasts any day. Ham, scrapple, bacon, potatoes, toasted rolls with the cinnamon butter glazened on the crisp covering all crowded his dining table for his guests, hospitality galore.

_Take that, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and shove it up your hobbit hole,_ Bilbo thought with a smirk as he pushed his pack to into the corner. Humming softly, Bilbo placed the chocolate cakes on the oaken table. No sooner had the aroma of sweets hit the air had three dwarrow entered his dining room. Two of the three were the younger dwarrow that he had draped a blanket over last night.

_What were their names?_ Bilbo thought as he wracked his brain for the short names. _Feedy and Keedy maybe?_

Poor Bilbo was saved his humiliation by the elder dwarf with wisened white hair turning to the boys with a cheerful nod murmuring, “Good morning Fíli, Kíli.”

The sleepy youths grumbled back their cloudy “G’morning, Balin,” back in frightening synchronization and stumbled through the dining room to two seats in front of the chocolate cakes and cinnamon scones. With glazed eyes and unfocused movements the boys each blindly grabbed a cake and took  sloppy bites, spewing crumbs all over the place settings.

“Zees awre amaving, Misser Boggins,” the younger dwarf, Kíli, sleepily commented with his mouth stuffed with an entire scone. His brother nodded absently and rubbed his eyes.

Bilbo threw a smile at the young ones. They were messy, but they knew how to play their cards well to worm their way to a hobbit’s good side: a complement to the cook. “Thank you Mister Kíli,” he replied politely, “I’ll be sure to give you the recipe. The scones are a Baggins specialty.”

“TFanks,” Kíli contentedly munched on the scones with his head sleepily on his brother’s shoulder.

Bilbo shifted his gaze from the comfy dwarrow youngsters to Balin who had taken a seat across from the brothers. The old dwarf gave Bilbo a knowing smile before neatly placing a piece of familiar parchment in his pocket. “It is good to have you with us, Master Baggins.” Balin said earnestly and gave the hobbit a final approving nod before tucking into his ham. He did not look up again until he was finished his meal.

Bilbo quickly devoured a few cakes and a scone before venturing into the living room with dread. If the dinner fiasco was anything to go by, the living room would be a troll’s nest. He could imagine it now… Couch cushions everywhere, stains on the carpet, torn doilies… Sighing, Bilbo trod into the living room only to stand stunned.

It was perfect.

Every doily was pristine, every couch was unstained, and the room had been... dusted? Impressive. Bilbo paced the floor with hands clasped behind his back as he nodded his approval. Except for the stack of neatly folded blankets and the very stoic Thorin Oakenshield in the middle of the room, he would have never known that dwarrow had slept there. Amazing!

_Now,_ Bilbo thought jokingly as he grabbed the blankets, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Thorin, _If only I could get them to repair the plumbing before we set out._

 


	2. Of Directions and Dwarrows

I don’t own The Hobbit.

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,_

_while loving someone deeply gives you courage._

  
-Lao Tzu

* * *

Dwarrows are a hardy bunch. They are sturdy, loyal creatures that are stubborn to a point. They are amazing  with metals and stone, forming amazing weapons and other crafts. Their cities are stunning with jewels of ruby and sapphire emblazoned with gold adorning every structure. Dwarrows are talented creatures in war and everyday life, however, directions are not their strong suit.

Take Thorin Oakenshield for example. He is a strong, stoic figure with a regal appearance that would put the tallest elf king to shame. The stubborn dwarf king journeyed from his home across Middle Earth all for the devotion and safety of his people, struggling to survive and still kept his chin up. He has fought and wounded Azog the Defiler with a mere oaken branch and lived to tell the tale for Yavanna’s sake! Thorin Oakenshield also managed to get himself and his company completely lost in the most peaceful, least confusing land in Middle Earth.

Naturally, Bilbo was amused.

After the third time they rounded the withering bilbao tree, the hobbit quite smugly trotted up to Gandalf and asked quietly, “Does he have any idea where he is going?”

“Quiet Bilbo,” Gandalf grinned with a sparkle in his eye, “I am quite enjoying this little endeavor of Thorin’s.”

Bilbo returned the smile. The company in front of him had followed jovially after their directionally challenged leader, oblivious to the circles they had been going in for the past hour and forty-five minutes. Kíli was bouncing around the cheerful dwarrows, switching items from person to person as Fíli distracted them. Most notably, Kíli switched Bofur’s bedroll with Gandalf’s extra cloak, leaving the the brothers giggling discreetly behind Bombur, but as Bilbo looked past them to Thorin, his smile fell. The regal dwarf looked completely spent, exhausted, and utterly frustrated as he mumbled to himself strange, inaudible guesses of which path to try next. Pity welled up in Bilbo’s throat and he softly walked around the bubbly dwarrows to the disgruntled king.  

“Take a right up here,” Bilbo murmured so only Thorin could hear. The dwarf jumped, his hand jolting to the sword at his hip before he saw Bilbo in the corner of his eye. Thorin huffed, obviously not wanting to accept help, but took the sharp right. Trodding along, the pair came to another fork in the road to which Bilbo muttered, “Left.”

Thorin twitched as Bilbo followed him down the path hidden under a thin layer of green grass, one that was not trodden down very well, making the path one that he would never have seen. Oh, and Bilbo knew it, but he could wait to be smug about it until the king did not act like a cantankerous fauntling without his breakfast.

The company made it out of the Shire within the hour with Bilbo’s tactful suggestions that kept Thorin’s pride dented slightly and his temper fuming. Along the way fourteen stout ponies were acquired from a stable on the outskirts of Hobbiton. The sturdy creatures were lent to one Master Oakenshield and he was told quite adamantly by the elderly hobbit to “have them back by the next season or ya won’t sit right fer a right month!”

To see the King Under the Mountain lectured by a balding hobbit half his size… Bilbo turned the color of Bombur’s curls from stifling his giggles.  He turned to hide his mirth from the company only to be faced with Fíli and Kíli who were both purple faced and nearing an explosion of snickers. It only took Kíli a moment of glancing down at Bilbo to erupt into  an obviously faked coughing fit.

_Those two are good faunts_ , Bilbo smirked with the thought as a fondness crept in. While he knew they were both well out of dwarfling territory and into adulthood, the hobbit could see the innocence and the general warmth that the brothers exuded. They reminded him of his cousins and the other fauntlings bustling around Hobbiton, always playing tricks around Old Took and Lobelia.

Bilbo opened his mouth to give a smart response to the boys, but a shadow fell over him. Puzzled, he looked up to see Fíli with an uncomfortable look of shame on his face. Foreboding fell over the hobbit as he turned around to see the leader of the company himself who was not looking too pleased.

“We are moving out, _boys_ ,” Thorin grumbled, looking pointly between Bilbo and the brothers' red faces before striding away to mount his pony.

“ _Boys_?” Bilbo repeated. The hobbit’s face dropped and burned red with the insult. “Well _excuse_ me!”

Fíli quickly jumped in. “I’m sorry Mister Baggins,” the young dwarf said politely, “Our uncle has a lot on his mind is all. I am sure he did not mean to insult your maturity.”

The fiery tempered hobbit snorted, looking unimpressed. “Well, I should be questioning his!” He exclaimed, “It is a morose time when the nephew has better manners than his uncle. Although, I do appreciate it Master Fíli.”

The young dwarrows shot him identical grins. “Just Fíli, Mister Baggins,” the younger smirked, “and just Kíli,” Fíli reiterated. “None of this formality among us _boys_!” Kíli winked as his brother finished and Bilbo could not help but smile.

“Quite right!” The hobbit grinned, “‘Just Bilbo’ at your service.”

Bowing quickly, Bilbo sent a last smirk to the pair and rushed to a particularly small pony toward the end of the group.

"Her name's Myrtle, " the owner piped in, "She'd be the littlest of em, but she's feisty. She'll serve ya well on yer journey Master Baggins."

Bilbo smiled at the older hobbit and shook the elderly hobbit's rough hand. "Thank you sir, your ponies are much appreciated."

The stable hobbit just snorted, his face wrinkling as he raised an eyebrow. "I'm never gettin' 'em back, am I?"

Bilbo had to smile. "Probably not."

He nodded. "I expected as much. Well, Master Baggins, good luck in whateve' the bloody mince pie you're doin'. Do try and bring my Myrtle back, but knowing your parentage, I won't expect much. Belladonna never brought her dear old pony back either." The old hobbit chuckled before a thought sobered his expression. "Ya look a mighty lot like 'er, the poor woman. A fine Took lass, she was."

Tears pricked behind Bilbo's eyes, welling up in front of the blue orbs. He nodded to the elder hobbit, who grasped Bilbo's shoulder in comfort. "Yer adventuring," he started, "Would've made the lass right proud, lad... but don't be throwin' away what she did fer ya."

Bilbo's face hardened as he shrugged the arm off of his shoulder. A rush of bad memories shot through him. Fire flashed across his vision as a jolt of fear shot through him. But... no. He was not going to think about that. Not anymore.

He pushed Myrtle to start trotting toward the others, away from the strange hobbit who seemed to have known his mother well enough, and of course he knew the story... the entire Shire knew it. It was told at bedtime to fauntlings as a tale of warning, last he heard. With a sigh, Bilbo turned to the other hobbit. With his head bowed, he replied tersely, "I don't intend to."

* * *

 

_There’s nothing quite like the stench of wet pony_ , Bilbo mused, covering his nose with his thick sleeve. He had never minded the rain; it was calming, and there is nothing quite like a good rain to wash away the sorrows of the earth. Rain was peaceful; rain was calm; rain was safe. The rain puts out the fires of humanity.

The dwarrows were not of the opinion. Gloin was testy, Bofur’s jokes were dreadful, and Ori was downright sullen. Fíli was nestled up in his uncle’s thick oilskin cloak as Kíli was using Fíli’s warm cloak to shelter from the rain. Both looked miserable, but not as miserable as Thorin Oakenshield. The King Under the Mountain looked stoic and regal, as always, but as Bilbo looked more closely he saw a constant, but barely noticeable shiver wrack his sturdy form. And it was no wonder the dwarf was so cold… He had on armour, yes, but his woolen cloak was soaked to the core and had shrunk dramatically. Funnily enough though, the dwarf’s facial expression was no different from when he was not miserable or thoroughly drenched.

_His face reveals about as much as a closed book buried under a wolf den_ , Bilbo scoffed. He could not imagine how his nephews understood the dwarf at all! Thorin was so closed off with all of his byronic heroism that stone expressed more depth of feeling. The King Under the Mountain just looked forever displeased.

Sighing, Bilbo turned to his left and struck up a conversation with the Wandering Wizard. It was one that he was not totally interested in, one of multicolored wizards, so he asked the occasional question and nodded in all the right parts. Polite as always, Bilbo gazed off into the distance as Gandalf rambled on about some Radagast person and the levels of colors of wizard, and-

Oh dear Yavanna, he was so bored!

Bilbo huffed and rested his head on his propped up arm. Bilbo thought, _For a life threatening adventure, it is awfully dull_. Not that he was complaining, of course. He would rather be soaked to the bone than running from orcs, goblins, or Yavanna forbid have a philosophical conversation with Gandalf the Grey.

The sun was falling behind the rolling green meadows as the company and their hobbit approached a ruined building on the side of the hills. The building gave Bilbo chills. He felt a prickling across his hands as he gazed at the charcoal ash, the shadow of the flame that had devoured the quaint family home. He could see the flaming tendrils curling around the strong oaken and stone supports, weakening the integrity of the house. Bilbo felt his pulse elevate slightly as he saw the violent licks of fiery wrath enveloping the possessions of the family: the beds, the dining table, and the toys of the little ones; leaving only the hearth behind to suffer alone with the ashes. He could see the fire burning, burning everything. Burning… Pain, the fire! The bubbling, molten flesh. The screams… Oh the screams...

“Bilbo?”

He jumped, whirling around with a crazed ember festering in his blue orbs. It was not until he felt a pair of callused hands rest on his shoulders that Bilbo snapped from his thoughts. Looking up through weary eyes, he recognized the dwarf attached to the hand gripping his shoulder.

“T-t-thank you Fíli,” Bilbo stammered, “I was...uh… quite lost in thought, I’m afraid.”

Fíli nodded, seemed unsure as the trembling hobbit took a deep, shaky breath as he pointedly avoided eye contact. He gently shrugged away the young prince’s hand and gazed around the hut, pretending that he did not feel the stares of the company on his back or Thorin’s intense gaze that could freeze a troll permeating his waistcoat.

It was only a moment later that the company dispersed. Gandalf evolved from content to concerned to storming off in a matter of minutes, and before Bilbo knew it the sun was down and he was enthralled in a story. A story of orcs, the bravery of dwarves, and a prince becoming a king. It struck Bilbo as funny that throughout the story Thorin just stared off into the distance, looking majestic and aloof as his coming of age story was told. At the last moment, he turned slowly as strode forward like a strutting, yet brooding peacock.

_Someone is into theatrics_ , Bilbo thought as he fought valiantly with the mutiny of his upturning lips. _That dwarf has an unending supply of drama._

The hobbit waited a few minutes until another dwarf moved before he finished laying out his bedroll and sinking into the fabric. He could smell the Shire on the soft cotton, but the sweet scent did not comfort him. Instead, he felt guilty as he was reminded of his home and how the dwarves were robbed of theirs. With a huff, Bilbo closed his eyes and began to doze off to sleep as the stars gleamed slightly above him. All was quiet and peaceful with only the soft crackling of the fire-

“Oi! Where’s my bedroll ya bloody gem tosser?!” Bofur hollered across the camp toward the princes. “You best be running! You’ll be watchin’ the horses all night.” Grumbling, Bofur glared at the pair before collapsing on Fíli’s squishy bedroll and was asleep instantly.

Bilbo shook his head and thought, _This is going to be a long journey._

 

 


	3. Of Sass and Trolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin Oakenshield's company faces their next adversary, or at least they try to. Bilbo is a little too proactive for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos! You guys are amazing. I love this fandom. Please let me know what you think. I'm trying to alter things slightly while still keeping everyone in character and I'd like to know if it is coming across well. Thanks and enjoy!

_First they ignore you,_

_Then they laugh at you,_

_Then they fight you,_

_Then you win._

  
__  
-Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

Flowers burst through the black. Yellow petunias, white roses, and golden sunflowers danced before his eyes and the yellow and green cornstalks swayed in the wind. The sky overhead was floating in crystal blue with white tufts as the the grass grew a vibrant red under his toes.

Wait a moment.

Brow wrinkling, Bilbo doubled back and reached a soft hand down to pluck a piece of rusty red grass. It was not as soft as the grass that he remembered of the Shire, of his home. The strand was much too rigid and… crimson.

Bilbo shrugged and threw the blade of scarlet over his shoulder and started over the hill in front of him. Humming a jolly tune from the Prancing Pony, the Baggins was all but skipping in his merriment. It was a beautiful day and the sun was shining. He lifted an arm, shading his eyes from the bright… red… sun…?  Why was the sun red? The stout hobbit stopped again. he looked up, gazing for a short moment at the fiery, burgundy orb. Had that always been red?

Must have.

Shrugging again, Bilbo looked ahead and continued over the hill with a smile on his face and pep in his step. The wind blew with a small chill, making a shiver creep up the hobbit’s spine. The chilled wind blew gently but with purpose, rustling  few branches on a nearby tree. Bilbo turned to the twisting branched only to see a robust bell hanging by a stoic, unmoving branch. It was a stunning golden bell with royal blue inlay, not made by any man, elf, and most certainly not a hobbit. It was too sturdy for that. The bell refused to ring as the wind shook the tree around it. Curious, Bilbo skipped jovily to the beautiful bell, looking more closely at the instrument. He felt a rush of giddiness as the bell silently swung. Bilbo felt a giggle escape his lips as he reached out to touch the bell. The tips of his fingers drifted toward the bell and as he made contact with the gold he felt a crippling jolt of electricity shoot through his body.

The dwarrows around him did not shift in their sleep as Bilbo shot up from his doze. Panting, the hobbit rested a shaking hand over his pounding heart. He remained there for a moment, ignoring the uncontrollable trembling in favor of the snoring dwarrows around him.

_What a strange dream_ , Bilbo thought as the panic ebbed, _What a strange dream…_

He got up, unable to keep still, and sighed. He needed a walk, but he was not about to get abducted or disemboweled by an orc. That would most _certainly_ make him late for breakfast. So Bilbo padded silently over to the dwarf lounging on a boulder. He was the one with an axe in his forehead.

Wracking his brain, Bilbo could not decide if he was Bofur of Bifur, so with a small amount of courage Bilbo approached the dwarf. He announced softly that he was going to walk to the ponies and say hello to the youngest Durins, eliciting a jump out of the dwarf who must not have heard him. He looked too surprised argue with the hobbit. And so Bilbo made his way to the ponies.

He should have known something was wrong when he heard the snores.

As Bilbo entered the clearing he sighed. There, on a stump as large as Bilbo’s front door behind a very healthy blueberry bush, sat a snoring Fíli and a drooling Kíli who was using his brother as a pillow. The hobbit just shook his head and took a step toward the duo,  intent on waking them.

And then he was almost trampled by a troll.

Bilbo gasped and dove into the blueberry bush next to the brothers and watched with a curiosity only available to a scholar.

It was taller than anything he had seen before. The troll stomped through the undergrowth like a smelly oliphant on a mission. Myrtle and Minty were hooked under his arms, and like their owners, the ponies were kicking up a fuss. Writhing in the trolls arms, Myrtle swung her head and bit the troll’s arm, but the creature did not even notice. The troll made a strange gurgling noise and he carried the ponies, unaware of everything from the two dwarrows asleep on the floor to the hefty root bowed over the troll’s path next to the bush. It was a silly detail, that little root. One that the troll was currently tripping over.

Down it fell with a thump that quickly woke the brothers and allowed the ponies to flee. Fíli let out a rather feminine shriek (one that he will forever dispute the pitch of for years to come), making the grumbling troll turn to the bush with a jerk of his head. The troll’s eyes darted through the bush and looked directly at the two confused, young dwarrows. Neither of the brothers had seen the oaf yet, but the troll gave a rotten toothy grin and reached his fatty hand toward the duo. A thrill of fear ran through the hobbit and without thinking, he sprang out of the other side of the bush.

“Good evening my dear sir!” Bilbo chirped shakily. The troll jumped and spun at the sound to see a small creature with its back ramrod straight as it took a deep breath and smiled at the troll.

Bilbo nimbly sidestepped a meaty hand. “Hello! I have been sent to speak to the most intelligent troll in all of the land. Do you know where I might find him?”

The troll looked pensive for a moment before murmuring what Bilbo assumed to be troll names under his breath. The smelly creature then seemed to come to a realization and grinned a blackened tooth grin. “I be smarterest! But what ‘r you?”

The troll poked Bilbo in the stomach and peered at the hobbit with a scrutiny akin to a peeping tom. Bilbo stood his ground, but used the motion to look at Fíli and Kíli and jerk his head in the direction of camp. To cover the rustling of the bush, Bilbo stared down the troll and said very sweetly, “I am a…” he stumbled before blurting out, “a baby troll!”

The troll recoiled, stunned. He seemed to contemplate the idea before shaking his bald head. “Ya ain’t no troll! We’s don’t look like that!”

“How would you know? It is always so dark and difficult to see. You looked exactly like me when you were small! You should know, you were there! We even have the same eye color.” Bilbo’s heart raced and he barely had time to contemplate what he was saying until it was out of his mouth. This was such a bad idea.

The troll brought his face close to Bilbo’s, dwarfing the hobbit. The troll’s murky white eyes looked into Bilbo’s own cerulean orbs. Both were different in every way, but the troll must have found similarity somewhere for he let Bilbo live. Maybe he could go with this.

“Actually,” Bilbo started, looking at the troll’s dirty face with a puzzled look, “We have an identical nose as well!”

Bilbo’s own delicately curved nose that was dimpled with freckles was scrutinized by the troll and his own bulbous ski sloped nose with flaring caverns. The troll nodded and exclaimed, “Yer right!”

The hobbit grinned, pleased the troll was playing along. Deciding to up the anti, Bilbo looked at the troll’s visage again and pretended to gasped. “Why, we have the same face! You look exactly like me. We even have the same size feet!”

Shocked, the troll stared at Bilbo’s furry feet and scurried backward. “You are me! How?!”

“Well, I cannot be you.” The hobbit smiled reassuringly as he saw dawn creeping over the hill. He only needed to wait a few more moments. “One person cannot be in two places at once, that is impossible. I am the you that is not you and the me that is not me. I am here to warn you of you and me of me.”

The troll was lost. “Wha’?” He looked dazed.

Suddenly a crack of a branch behind the troll revealed a company of dwarrows doing their best to pretend to be stealthy. Huffing in exasperation, Bilbo waved off the dwarrows with their swords heroically drawn. He did not need them… yet. Bilbo opened his mouth to redirect the troll’s attention, but the blundering mountain dweller had already stood up and was stomping toward the trees. The earth rumbled as the troll stepped with Bilbo running at his heels in an attempt to stop the troll.

“Wait! I must speak with you!”

He only got a few steps before the little hobbit was scooped up into a meaty grip. The flubbery creature smiled and with halitosis riddled breath he sneered, “Littleuns taste mighty good. At least it’s not mutton.” Squirming with fear, Bilbo gave the troll a wide eyed stare and withheld a scream when the troll bared his teeth.

“Wait!” The hobbit barked as he wriggled, “You have to be careful! I’m full of… of parasites!”

The troll snorted. “What do ya take me fer? A idiot?”

“No!” Bilbo assured hastily, “No, but you see, I am a stupid, slow troll. If you eat me, then my parasites will cause you to become stupid and you will die of stupidity! It would be a right shame if the smartest troll in the land were to become dull and die, wouldn’t it? Sometimes the parasites can even crawl through my skin and into the flesh of others.”

The troll’s eyes widened and released a roar. Taking the small, squishy body of the hobbit in his grasp, the troll squared his slovenly hips and catapulted Bilbo over his right shoulder. He flew through the air, terror consuming him. He cradled his head as he hit the ground with a low thud. Dust billowed from around his form and hung in the air. For a moment all was silent, all was still, and utterly, utterly black. The hobbit was slow to move, but when he did he saw light. Light. He looked up to spot a troll completely still and encased in stone and twelve dwarrows and an annoyingly late wizard (who had extremely poor timing) standing around it. Kíli was poking the statue with a wide grin while Balin nodded toward the stone approvingly, his white beard flowing in the autumn breeze.

Thorin did not seem as pleased. His face was red and a thin line of sweat painted his brow. He walked with purpose, borderlining on… not panic… but perhaps it was more frenzied. Without even sparing a glance at the stone figure, the thick dwarf strode past his nephews toward Bilbo’s crumpled form.

Well, he was going toward Bilbo. At the last step toward Bilbo, Thorin hesitated and took a large bound in the direction of the rising sun. He looked around and then made an especially regal face as if he had just decided the direction they were about to go in. If the hobbit did not know any better, he would have thought that the King Under the Mountain had just acted like an awkward tween, unable to express any emotional reaction or thanks for saving his nephews.

_Dear Yavanna…_ Bilbo rubbed his temples as he rose to his feet, scoffing at the king to his right. _How long did it take dwarrows to mature?_

Meanwhile, Fíli and Kíli were giggling like fools behind the large piece of tattoo ink that was Master Dwalin. Rolling his eyes good naturedly at the pair, Bilbo shook his head and glanced at the leader of the company. The adrenaline was still flowing, making Bilbo have slightly more unfortunately vivacious sass than usual.

“Have you decided which type of horrifyingly _intelligent_ creature we are going to encounter next, Master Thorin?” Bilbo did not even look at the dwarf, instead gazing straight ahead. “I would very much like to know who will have me for dinner or use me for a shot put, if it is not too much trouble.”

Thorin said nothing but there was a faraway gleam in his eye, making Bilbo feel even smaller, if possible. Instant guilt flooded the hobbit at saying anything. Thorin had not done anything to warrant his shove down the bumpy road that is Whose Fault is it Anyway? Lane.

“I apologize,” Bilbo said, lower than before, “I spoke too harshly. None of this was your fault… I must have hit my head a touch more than I initially realized.” He punctuated his attempt at a joke with half hysterical half manic laughter. If anything, more lines appeared on Thorin’s visage. The dwarf said nothing to acknowledge the hobbit and stalked off, yelling for the company to get to their ponies.

Later, Bilbo would recount the heart splitting guilt every time over the pain from the severe bruising after his freefall.

* * *

 


End file.
